Page 22 of Reckless Love

Wick scoffed. “For what? Being human after a lecherous asshole attacked you?”

My head snapped up, stunned that he knew. “How did you… Saul.”

Wick gave a grim nod. “I’d rather it was my wife who told me she was having issues with her employer, but I suppose that would require a level of trust you’re not comfortable with. I’m sorry that I haven’t proven you can trust me.”

“Y-you’re sorry?” I stared at him. “But you didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Wick mused, his dark eyes stormy. “I thought the best approach to our marriage was to give you space. But now I worry that all I’ve done is isolate you even further.”

“I don’t understand,” I murmured, shaking my head.

A hand landed on my bare thigh, and I jolted as I looked down. My pencil skirt wasn’t made for straddling anything, let alone a man as big as my husband. The skirt was rucked up nearly to my hips, baring the blue thong that covered the strip of my slit.

Embarrassment crawling up my neck, I scrambled to get off his lap.

“Stop,” he ordered.

And, like a well-trained wife, I did just that.

“Have I done anything to make you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted.

His head cocked. “Why do you feel the need to hide from me?”

My cheeks were ablaze. “Because… because you can see my, you know.” I waved a hand in the general direction of my lady bits.

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’m quite the fan of your… you know.”

I winced, realizing how childish I sounded.

“Alessia, I need you to stop and truly consider my words. Are you embarrassed that I can see your underwear? Or are you trying to hide because you don’t like me seeing you emotional?”

Was it possible to die of humiliation? Because I was pretty sure that was where I was headed.

He tapped the outside of my leg. “Answer me, wife.”

Blowing out a breath, I considered his question and really sifted through my emotions. “I’m embarrassed that I fell apart.” Why did saying that make me feel more vulnerable than I felt during our wedding night?

“Why?” The question was gentle and patient as he stared at me in earnest.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” he countered, not relenting. “I’d imagine it’s the same reason Saul had to tell me what happened today. The reason why I first met you when you were crying all alone.”

My hands twisted together between us, one of my joints popping before Wick covered my hands with one of his. “Sia, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I blinked up at him. “You called me Sia.”

His brow furrowed. “Should I not?—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I like it. My parents and grandparents called me that.” Other than when I’d told Mr. Devane to call me by that name, I’d resigned myself to never hearing it again, even if that was part of the problem.

With a soft sigh, I looked down. “I had really bad anxiety as a kid. The therapist I saw said it was because my little sister died, and then my parents died… There was always a reason, but it didn’t change the fact that I was the weird, shy kid who would hyperventilate when I got overwhelmed.”

“I wish I could have been there for you then,” Wick murmured, shaking his head.

“After one really bad panic attack in the middle of a dinner with investors, my Nonna and I had a talk. She told me that there was nothing wrong with having anxiety. That she’d had it growing up, but her anxiety was because her family struggled to put food on the table or the war that was going on.”

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